


The Devil to Pay

by Moonshine_Givens



Category: Justified
Genre: 30 years later than canon, Angst, M/M, not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:48:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonshine_Givens/pseuds/Moonshine_Givens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirty years after Raylan came back to Kentucky, he is an old man living in Harlan. When a stranger comes his way, he can't help but tell a sad, violent tale about an old friend and a love that was his destiny.</p><p>Work inspired by the Brazilian classic "The Devil to Pay in the Backlands", by Guimarães Rosa (Grande Sertão: Veredas)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil to Pay

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, gunslingers!  
> This work is a conversation between Raylan and a silent listener, and we only get to hear Raylan's tale. It is set 30 years after the events of the season 3 finale.  
> I'm not from Kentucky (I'm from Rio, actually) so I had to pay a lot of attention to Raylan's accent. I'm not sure I got it right. Also, the internet is my only way of knowing something about Harlan, so I took all locations and possible information from there. PLEASE, if there's anything wrong with the accent or with the locations, PLEASE let me know. I was very careful but there's only so much research can do for you, I've never being to the States.  
> Please read the end note!

“Nothin' much. You can sit down and enjoy your coffee in peace; those shots ya’re hearin’ are just the boys shootin’ rats further down Woodland Hill. That’s just before Tway Hollow, if you’re going down the State Highway from King’s Hollow. My friend Boyd and I used to do the same when we were kids, but back them I used to live in Hubbard Road with my momma and Arlo, and his daddy had a house two streets down, in Peach Tree Street. That’s the other side of the town, sir; you don’t want to get yourself lost 'round here. But no, that’s nothing much, boys’ ‘round here shoot rats since before the last century, when I was born.

Where you even born in the last century, sir? 2010, you say? That means you’re what, thirty? Thirty two, yeah, I suppose that makes sense. I remember the year you were born like it was yesterday. That was the year I came back home to Kentucky. Oh, you think an ole man like myself has never seen the world outside Harlan County? Well, I’ll tell you that I spent nearly twenty years without setting foot in this land. I was living in Miami. You’re from Miami yourself? I thought so, yeah. Ain’t we full of coincidences on this day?

I liked Miami alright. Just like advertised, sunny and hot. Boyd used to tell me he could never see himself in a place so flat, but I didn’t miss the hills too much when I was back there. In fact, I’d swear I would never see any of Kentucky again. But me and Boyd had too many differences, sometimes it would set us apart, sometimes it would bring us together. Sometimes we would try to kill each other ‘cause of it. I’m not talkin’ shit here, son, I did try to kill him once. Put a bullet right through his chest, my best friend in this crazy world. He didn’t die, but he did find God, so we can safely assume my bullet did 'nough damage.

Boy, that was a black day. Not sure why would a fine gentleman like yourself be wantin’ to shoot a movie down here. Hillbillies only have sad, violent tales to tell. In fact, that may be the reason why, uhm? Tears sell better than smiles, I suppose. I’m not a very smiley man today, but Winona keeps telling me I have not lost my charm, even if I have my doubts any fine young lady would bed a man old enough to be her granddaddy. Winona is very jealous still, and that’s why I won’t say Boyd’s name ‘round her much, even after all this time. She can be a scary little thing, that woman, and sometimes I feel sorry for our boy to grow with a momma like that.

He’s ‘bout your age, our boy. Born in the last month of 2012, and everyone kept sayin’ the world was ending. Some shit about the Maias or somethin’. Can’t say for sure that I recall what was that fuss all about, but even the folks in Harlan were lookin’ funny at the sky. Winona was taking none of this shit. She said she wouldn’t spend the last eight months of her life lookin’ like a balloon. Boyd said to me he wasn’t quite sure the world was ready to end, since most people – himself included – hadn’t make amends with our Creator. That was after I shot him in the chest and he found God, but by the time 2012 was ending, Boyd had lost God again, like the divine was some car keys he kept forgetting where he put it.

But if you’re really certain you want to get Harlan in some sort of movie, you should go down the mines. Every folk here in Harlan has some sort of unsolved business with the mine: some have worked the mines, some had family workin’ the mines, most know someone who died or nearly died underground. If I’ve lost someone? Shit, son, I almost lost myself. I was nineteen back then, a damn fool, worked on the mine for almost an entire year. We had a cave in, a bad one. I thought I was gonna die for sure, gave my soul to the Holy Spirit and all that. All I wanted was to die with Boyd Crowder’s hand between mine, my friend near me. I wasn’t even askin’ God to not kill me, I was just askin’ for Boyd to not let go of my hand, as we ran. Can you imagine, what it’s like? You’re ‘bout to die and all you want to do is hold your friend’s hand, and you’re prayin’ he won’t let go. Boyd saved my life that day in the mine.

I’m not that kind of man, you see. I’m as open minded as one can be being born in Harlan, since I lived in Miami and all that. But I was always a lady’s man, married with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met, and I loved Winona for as long as I can remember. Got into enough trouble because of a pretty lady face as well – my boss Art Mullen used to tell me I was a good marshal as long as everyone involved was neither a female nor a Crowder. I did tell you I was a US Marshal, right? The only job I ever really had, if you don’t count digging coal as a kid ‘longside Boyd.

But as I was sayin’, I was never really that kind of man. If I wanted, I could had easily found myself a boy back in Miami, big enough of a town that no one was gonna give two shits about it. But the only boy I ever wanted was Boyd, and wasn’t that a pain in the ass. That day in the mine was my last full day in Kentucky in twenty years, I was gone by the morning. When I did came back as marshal, Boyd was blowin’ shit up and robbing banks for a living, a fuckin’ swastika tattooed in his arm. Can you imagine that? The boy was full of shit, but damn, that hurt anyway. I had to shot him and get him arrested, still wantin’ him just as much as the day I left this damn shithole.

We never touched, all those years as kids, growing up together. Hell, most days I wouldn’t even admit to myself I wanted the boy, too afraid my daddy or his daddy would see it in my eyes. We would spend all days together, gettin’ high on Mag Bennett’s shine and pot, throwing punches just to get our hands on each other. ‘Cause I couldn’t get myself to admit I wanted him, but I knew he cared about me like it was his destiny.

Our daddies used to work together, two low lives who liked to scan people to make money and beat the crap out of their wives and kids. Bo Crowder could at least pretend he wasn’t aiming to kill his boys, hitting below the collar. But Arlo would keep me with a black eye or a split lip seven days a week and twice on Sundays. A real charming man, Arlo. Since the day he died I’m sure Hell got a tiny bit warmer, he was that kind of guy.

It’s funny how those things go, people keep saying they are never sure how did they fall in love with someone. Boy, I can tell you for sure the moment I realized Winona was somethin’ else. As for Boyd… I had a bit of a moment of enlightenment, you can say. Both Arlo and Bo had some selling or buying to do outside of town that weekend, I think we were seventeen, still? So Boyd and I took my daddy’s truck and drive ourselves all the way down to Martins Fork lake, and that’s about a half hour drive. That’s a nice place for you to go visiting, son: you can always fish there, and just lookin’ at it makes you happy to be alive in this world.

Not sure what me and Boyd were doing that day, but we weren’t fishing. I remember us talking and drinking and being stupid, and then I must have fall asleep with him by my side. It was a warm day, so I guess it should be already summer. When I opened my eyes, later, a little bird was staring me from real close, as if he weren’t afraid. I didn’t knew what kind of bird was that – only it was a brave one – and I didn’t want to turn ‘round and scary the little thing away. A pretty bird like that, all black and kind of orange on the wings, ya’ know? I called ‘Boyd’, but he didn’t answer. I turn ‘round, the bird fly away, Boyd ain’t there anymore. So I lay with my back on the grass, feeling warm and sleepy, Boyd’s name still on my lips. ‘Boyd’, I say again, so low I couldn’t hear my own voice. ‘Boyd, my love’, I say to myself, and it’s true. Just like that, I knew I loved that boy, ‘cause I couldn’t get rid of the name on my lips. ‘Cause I didn’t want to get rid of it.

I’m not exactly sure why I am telling you all that. Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re so close in age with my own boy, and I would like to have the… liberty to discuss those things with him, but I couldn’t talk ‘bout Boyd with him, not really. Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re not from ‘round here, just someone passing by. Don’t take it personally, boy, but I probably won’t see you ever again. It’s like I’m not really talking with someone else as much as I am talking to myself, you see? And I suppose I missed saying Boyd’s name out loud, talkin’ about that time. There’s so much pain about our time as kids together, but when we get old we want to remember even the bad memories, as well as the good ones. I felt like my world was ending that day down at Martins Fork, but today I just feel like talking about it.

When Boyd finally came back, later that day, he said I looked like I’ve seen a ghost. ‘Not a ghost, just a bird’, and the boy laughed. ‘It must have been the Devil in that bird, Raylan’. For a long time I thought it could be, if there was any Devil in this world.

Do you believe in the Devil, sir? I don’t suppose a nice man from Miami would believe it. No, don’t worry, I’m not about to go all hillbilly preacher on you now. In fact, I’m quite sure I don’t believe myself. Used to, for a while, but after everything I’ve seen, I guess the Devil would have showed me his face at some point. God knows I called for his dark name at crossroads and cemeteries. If he’s not even answering his calls, I won’t assume he’s much of an evil.

After that day, my love for Boyd only grew, as I could tell for certain that he felt the same. Like his destiny, I tell you, that boy loved me. You can’t escape your destiny, and that ain’t no esoteric bullshit, that’s actually where the word destiny comes from: destination, where you’re heading to. And we were always heading towards each other, always colliding. So I knew I couldn’t be with him, not ever, but the knowledge that he wanted me just as much was enough to keep me going on that love.

Some days were easy enough, the two of us escaping into the woods and living in our own world. Some days it would be our daddies that would bring us back to the real world, because they both wanted us on their side of the law. Some days, the real bad ones, it was me and Boyd that couldn’t keep our own balance, lost that we were on each other.

Like when I started to date Jenna Lee. The other boys our age kept talkin’ ‘bout me being in love with the girl, and I couldn’t very well deny it. Then Boyd had enough, jumped me in front of everyone and put a knife against my throat. ‘Do you know your destiny, Raylan?’

I wasn’t afraid; even though I was sure he could kill me so very easily, that he had the guts to do it. Only, I can never be afraid of someone I love. I only feared the other men could tell the bad insanity that was going on between us.

‘Do you know your destiny?’ a knife against my throat, his eyes like fire, his body pressed against mine, and why didn’t I remember to say God’s name in that damn moment, when I could die in the next second?

‘No I don’t, Boyd, but some demon must know it.’

Everyone around us thought Boyd was also in love with Jenna Lee. It was a huge surprise when neither one of us kept her, but no one could fathom why.

We lived like that for as long as we could manage, both aware of each other’s silences. When the time came – when the mine decided for me that I couldn’t stay a day longer – I came lookin’ for him, desperate and still shaking. ‘Come with me, Boyd. Just come with me, and we can find ourselves a place to live that ain’t here.’ I begged. Hell, I’m not sure I ever begged as much for anything else in my whole life. Boyd held my hand that day, but I could see that he was setting himself apart already. It felt like there was a rock between our fingers, hurting my skin, crashing my bones.

He said to me: ‘You go, Raylan, and you find a nice lady that will take you. She’ll cook for you and wear nice dresses, give you the kids you always wanted. She won’t fight you and she’ll be a pretty little blond thing, all soft and delicate like a flower. Sweet like that Ava girl you don’t think I know you have your eyes on. You go on and do that, Raylan.” Hearing that from the boy you love. It was like the mine was swallowing me alive all over again.

I did just that. Went on, joined the marshals. Found Winona. She was as sweet as I could ever wish, the most beautiful girl I ever laid my eyes on. Met her on Salt Lake, can you imagine that? Catching a Kentucky girl so far away from home, that’s something. We were happy, I suppose, but not the whole time we were together, otherwise she wouldn’t have cheated on me. Son, that look of surprise on your face is only there ‘cause you haven’t met Winona just yet. She was quite a lady, and still is, after all those years.

So our first try on marital happiness didn’t exactly work as planned. Lasted six years, though. The last ones were tough, but I wasn’t ready to give up yet. I did love her, after all, that much I can say it’s true. I’m not exactly sure what that says about the kind of man I am.

Do you think it’s possible for a single man to give his heart twice in a lifetime? Hell! What in the Devil’s name am I doing? Wasting a young man’s time talking about an ole cowboy heart. You sure you don’t wanna something stronger to help you cope? Have you tried any Harlan moonshine yet? It’ll sure make my tales more pleasant.

When I came back Winona was still married to the guy she left me for. Not that that lasted too much. We were on-again-off-again like a goddamn boomerang for a long time after that. Even Graham’s birth – that’s our boy – didn’t get us together for good. It seemed like we couldn’t find a language to speak in, not really.

By the time Graham was born, Boyd was well on his way to become King of Harlan, the greatest criminal mind in this County. He was living with Ava, the same sweet girl I had a crush on when I was nineteen and she was just too young. That girl always had a bad taste in man. Great woman, sharp and dangerous and wonderful, but with a terrible taste. One day I might tell you about how she killed her husband, Boyd’s brother, while eating supper. Another sad and violent tale, as it should be.

I had given up on arrestin’ Boyd. In the small space of time between my coming back to Kentucky and my son being born, he had been arrested maybe five different times for five different accusations, and every time he managed to find a way out, the same predator smile on his face.

I feel like I’m not being fair about Boyd here. The same way I can’t tell for sure if it was five arrests or six arrests or maybe only three, I’m not convinced I can tell you about what kind of man Boyd Crowder was. If I tell you about how he was a fucked up boy with a shark for a father who ended up in the mines by the age of 19, you might make a victimized image of Boyd that is not very correct. But if I tell you about how, at 39, he was able to shoot a man in the head cold blooded because that same man didn’t have a swastika on his skin, then you might think he actually believed that nazi crap. If I tell you about how he cried the first time we slept together as lovers, I’m not sure what kind of man you’ll think Boyd was.

I wish I could tell you simpler things about him, things from our day to day life: what kind of food he used to eat in the mornings, the way he smiled when he knew he had the upper hand, the books he was always reading. I wish I could tell you about the way that boy could talk you into almost anything, without even breaking a sweat. He talked like a preacher, but he might as well be preachin’ about the Devil’s church, you’ld still think he was a saint. Still, I can’t quite talk about Boyd in the right words, I can’t be fair to him – it’s like I didn’t know him at all. Ain’t that sad?

I should tell you that he liked to see everything on fire. Only thing I could ever tell for sure: if things were blowin’ up, then Boyd must have something to do with it. He started blowin’ shit down the mine, and never did stop. I suppose I should have seen what was comin’ our way, since it was a long time comin’, but then we can only tell those signs when it’s too late.

By the time Boyd and Ava were getting too powerful, even their allies were unhappy with their happiness. You see, Boyd, unlike me, could love Ava and still talk the same language that she did, like his love for her wasn’t fighting his love for me. They were happy, they fit, and it made me hate everything about it. Sometimes I would kiss Ava and tell myself I still wanted to have her. But she was so happy with Boyd she would even ignore the way I couldn’t stay away from her man. She was better than me.

Boyd’s cousin Johnny wasn’t too happy about them being together as well but, unlike me, he was really chasing Ava. That was too bad, since Boyd was trusting Johnny a great deal those days, and that made him vulnerable. Johnny saw an opportunity and tried to kill Boyd, with the help of some men from Noble’s Holler, who all worked for a guy named Limehouse. Now, sir, you won’t want to go down that neighborhood, so I won’t give you any directions. The best road to follow when Noble’s Holler is involved is the one that’ll get you out of there.

Since I won’t bother you with all the disgusting details of that fight, I’ll only tell you that Boyd did manage to get away from his cousin’s ambush, and call me. By the time both of us could find Johnny, he was trying to get out of Harlan, two guns in the glove compartment, all of Boyd’s money in the passenger seat and Ava’s body in the trunk.

You see, when Ava didn’t want to do something, she wouldn’t. She would never leave Harlan without putting up a fight, a fight Johnny wasn’t ready to lose.

I didn’t try to stop Boyd when he executed Johnny on that road.

After that, Boyd’s only crusade was to kill Limehouse. More than once I told him Limehouse wasn’t to blame: Ava’s death was Johnny’s doing. Boyd would not try to argue with me, he would just nod, as if he’d agreed, and still try to kill Limehouse the next day.

At first, I tried to stay away and keep Boyd in line as an US Marshal. That didn’t work and was stupid as fuck. After a few days of seeing Boyd nod and agree, quiet and broken, I gave up trying to be a good marshal. I just followed him around, waving guns and asking question, punching people up just as much as Boyd did, escaping my boss’ phone calls. In the end, Art stopped calling, and I figured I was just as much of a fugitive as Boyd. My boy was going for his second birthday, and I risked never seeing him again.

I don’t think Winona ever forgave me for that. Not only for choosing Boyd over… well, everything, but also ‘cause I didn’t stop to think about Graham. Or I did thought about him, but that wasn’t enough to keep me away. I think it still hurts her sometimes, that I was able to do that. It hurts me as well.

We slept on stolen cars and cheap motel rooms, when we were certain they wouldn’t want to attract the police even if a killer was sleeping in one of the rooms. The money we had was all that Johnny had tried to steal, and then something I managed to grab before hitting the road with Boyd. That went on for nearly six bloody months, with Boyd tryin’ to get his revenge.

At some point, three or four months in it, I begged Boyd again, this time to walk away. We could still run, be somethin’ else somewhere else. Who cares if Limehouse lives or dies, Ava was dead anyway, nothing we could do to bring her back, and we were alive.

I started to despair the moment Boyd took my hand. ‘She was carrying my baby, Raylan. If you want to go, you can go, but I can’t. I would hate to see our friendship end like this, but that may be the only way. You don’t have to keep your promise, I’ll bring justice to Ava. Leave.’ How could I leave, after that?

Two days later, we had sex.

There are days when I wish I had never touched Boyd. Not when he was so broken, so destroyed, not when everything was already going to shit and I knew we were living on borrowed time. I wish I had kept the certain that he loved me like I was his destiny, and it would have been enough. But we both needed consolation of some kind that night, and words would fall short. It’s not exactly regret, but it also doesn’t feel good.

There are days that I feel all the sacrifices were made just so I could know the taste of his skin.

Months later, we were still hunting Limehouse. I was drunk most of the time. I remember sayin’ to Boyd ‘Do you think this is God testin’ us?’ to which he answered ‘’m not a God’s man any longer, Raylan’. And since I was drunk, and certain that we weren’t men of God, I went to a crossroad and called for the Devil. Called ‘till my throat was dry, but in the crossroad there was only the wind and the dust, and empty streets.

I would have sold my soul just to get Boyd to kill Limehouse. There was nothing else I wanted, nothing else I wished, after six months of torturing and killing just to find a single man. All I wanted that night, in the crossroad, was Limehouse dead.

The Devil didn’t come. Boyd were still cutting some poor bastard when I got to the hotel, tryin’ to get some information on Limehouse. That one guy didn’t gave us nothing (I’m not sure he ever knew something), but less than a week later we finally had some good intel on Limehouse.

Felt like a victory, the day we finally saw his hideout. We decided we couldn’t get ourselves through the doors, so we should do it in the old Boyd’s way: blow things up. Kill Limehouse and all of these men with one big explosion.

‘Till this day, I’m not sure what went wrong. Boyd was supposed to get the bomb ready, get the hell out of the house and wait with me on the other side of the street, just in case anyone was able to try to escape by the road after the explosion. Boyd never came back: I was still loading my gun when, after a loud blasting, the house started burning.

As I figured, Limehouse was one of the casualties. As was Boyd, you must have figured as well. All dead in that fire.

Art Mullen managed to make everyone that was interested believe I was held hostage for the better part of those six months. The rest of the time, Art said it was expected for me to be hanging around Boyd, since he had tried to ‘infiltrate’ me in ‘Crowders organized operation’. Art was a saint, that man. That he was.

So I got my old job back and could finally be with my son. With time, Winona’s wounds started to heal, leaving ugly scars. But she forgave me anyway, giving me the chance to be the man I could never be without her. For that, I am grateful.

She’s been with me ever since, and I cannot imagine my life without her. Not that I have much time to live now, right? I love her, yes. But Boyd… maybe if you walk through those hills, son, you can imagine how much Boyd’s absence fills me. We dug coal from the mountains together, we prayed at the same church. He’s not here anymore. The friend who traveled those hollers with me and whose laugh I can still listen every time I taste a good Harlan ‘shine… I could never leave Harlan again, after that. It felt too much as if I was leavin’ him again, just like that first time when we were nineteen. I guess this is what I have to pay, after all, if the Devil heard my black prayers that day – the piece of my soul that is gone. And could you, such a fine man from Miami, tell me what else could Hell ever be?”

**Author's Note:**

> This work is heavily inspired by my favorite book ever, The Devil to Pay in the Backlands, by Guimarães Rosa (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Devil_to_Pay_in_the_Backlands). It's a true classic in Brazilian literature, and even if you couldn't care less about South America, you SHOULD read it. It's the most gorgeous love story I've ever read, it's painful and wonderful, and sure to please any slash fan! If you didn't like my fic, don't worry: she's not even a bit fair to this wonderful work.  
> If you wanna talk to me, let me hear it at ohthati.tumblr.com ! ANY comments are welcome!


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